


we tumble down the hill (like jack and jack and jill)

by ellydash



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-06
Updated: 2011-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-17 17:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellydash/pseuds/ellydash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine can’t choose between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we tumble down the hill (like jack and jack and jill)

_fill in the words._

It’s been more than a week since the Rachel Berry debacle, but Blaine hasn't forgotten Kurt’s dismissive comments. Not yet.

  
Sure, it’s pointless to keep rubbing at something he should let heal; Blaine gets that. There’s a whole litany of reasons why he needs to move on. Kurt hadn’t really _meant_ anything bad by those remarks. And after the great job Blaine’s done presenting himself to Kurt as Mr. Confidence, it must’ve been disconcerting for Kurt to hear about Blaine’s sudden confusion. And, okay, fine, maybe he’d been a little insensitive by going on a date with Rachel, of all girls. There’s some weird history between Kurt and Rachel, some tension between them he can’t exactly pin down.

  
But after how supportive he’s been, through Kurt’s whole bullying crisis? Blaine thinks he’s been a fantastic friend, and for Kurt to just be a complete jerk like that in return wasn’t okay.

  
If he’s being honest, he’s pissed off at himself, mostly: for lying to both of them, even if he didn’t have much of a choice. The stress of Kurt’s eyes watching him were just as much a part of that second kiss as Rachel’s mouth was, and Blaine’s never really been good with certain kinds of pressure. Still, though. Dumb, dumb, seriously freaking _dumb_ to lie like that, even if it was the easiest way to get them out of their weird triangle situation. He’s actually kind of amazed Kurt bought his goofy-ass explanation. But it’s easier, probably, for Kurt to believe. Simpler.

  
Blaine wants to believe it, too.

  
It’s like he’s opened Pandora’s box, though, and now he can’t stop thinking about Rachel Berry and her weird clothes and her fabulous voice and the intense way she kisses, like a coil of energy snapping against his face. Her lip gloss tastes terrible, some weird mix of aloe vera and menthol.

  
He wants to kiss her again.

  
“Earth to _Blaine_ ,” Kurt’s saying. Blaine suddenly focuses in on Kurt’s impatient hand, waving wildly in front of his face, and just like that, he’s back in the dull racket of Lima Bean smells and noises: coffee addict conversation, the clatter of dirty plates, the reek of wet grounds. “Come back. You didn’t hear a single word I just said, did you?”

  
“Of course I did,” Blaine blurts, and immediately regrets it.

  
Kurt raises an eyebrow, straightening in his chair. “You did. Right. I’m sure.”

  
Blaine hunts quickly through the rubble of their recent conversation, finding a few key words in the wreck. “Finn. You lost Finn under the hood of a car. Wait. I don’t – that doesn’t make sense, Kurt.”

  
"He somehow managed to get stuck in between the intake manifold and the coolant tank,” Kurt says, stone-faced. “We had to use a tub of Vaseline and a dozen cans of WD-40 to get him loose. Finn just _slides_ off the couch now when he tries to sit down. It’s tragic.”

  
“Uh. What?”

  
The corners of Kurt’s mouth stretch, then, and Blaine realizes he’s been played. “It was a _pin_ , Blaine. I lost a pin. And get that wounded look off your face. Serves you right for not listening to me. Where were you, anyway? Thinking about Regionals? Shifting through possibilities for your next solo? I have some ideas, if you’d like to hear them.”

  
There’s that tone again in Kurt’s voice, the little lilt that sounds like an invitation. The problem is, he’s not sure what Kurt’s offering him in the first place, exactly, or how much, or even if he wants to accept it. It’s just – well, it’s a lot easier, right now, to pretend like he’s not hearing the suggestion.

  
“Sure,” he says, and he takes a sip of his over-roasted coffee, seeing Rachel. She’s grinning, twirling in her terrible dress, bedazzled microphone clutched in one hand. “I’m always happy to hear your ideas, Kurt.”

  
 

 _a funny kind of proposal.  
_

“I’d like to thank you,” Rachel says, on the phone that night, “for the inspiration you’ve given me. Just so you know, I’ve added you to my list of people I’m going to thank when I win my first Tony. You’re the fourteenth, right after Betty Buckley.”

  
It figures that she’s called him, because of course Blaine’s spent most of his evening trying to stop thinking about Rachel. Thanks to an intervention by Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak, he’d nearly succeeded, but then there her name was, flashing on the screen of his buzzing cell. Almost like she’d known he was winning his battle, and decided this was exactly the right time to step in.

  
“Inspiration?” he asks, hitting the remote’s pause button, and struggling to sit up in bed. Kim Novak freezes on his screen. She’s waiting for Jimmy to confess, her beautiful face wide with horror. He guesses Kim’s going to have to wait a little longer.

  
“Our brief, doomed love affair. And I’ve been listening to a lot of early Marvin Hamlisch – specifically, his pre- _The Way We Were_ oeuvre. The two combined have been very helpful. I’ve written ten lines so far. Would you like to hear what I have?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “The pain of disappointment fills my soul/Like soup poured into a bowl/Oh, cruel fate that chance dealt/I know the grief that Liza felt–"

  
“Great, seriously great,” he interrupts, wincing, unable to listen any longer. He really wants to be able to praise her convincingly, and if she keeps reciting, he won’t be able to keep up the necessary enthusiasm. “Very, uh, poignant. I like the way you really, you know, force similes to work for you.”

  
He hears Rachel exhale with satisfaction. “Thank you, Blaine,” she says. “I know I have a natural sense for effective symbolism. But I have to be honest with you. I didn’t just call to read you my work.”

  
His stomach cramps with a sudden rush of adrenaline. “Why? What is it?”

  
“I know that when you attended the party at my house, it must’ve looked like I’m a very popular person, judging by all the people that were there. And really, I feel very lucky to be part of the glee club. But –“ Her voice wavers, just a little bit. “I’m not that close to many people. Especially since Finn and I have – ended things. And I think we, you and I, could be good friends. After all, it’s not often that you meet someone who understands the incredible influence Ali MacGraw’s hair had on the rest of the 1970s.”

  
“Absolutely. I mean, Farrah Fawcett wouldn’t have been _possible_ without her,” Blaine says, sitting up straight, back pressed against the headboard of his bed. “Rachel, of course we can be friends. I’d love to be friends with you.” He’s not lying at all, unless the definition of ‘lie’ includes lies of omission; he really does want what he’s saying, and more, too.

  
She exhales again, a quick rush of air into his ear. “You don’t know how good that feels,” she says. “I’m so glad, Blaine. Thank you.”

  
“You’re very welcome,” he answers, automatically, because he’s glad his friendship means that much to her. Once the words have left his mouth, though, he feels awkward about them. He should’ve said _you don’t have to thank me_ , or _your friendship means a lot to me too_. It’s what you’re supposed to say, right? Something gracious.

  
Blaine slides down against a pillow, pushing his cheek into the fabric. On his screen, Kim Novak stares at him, her blonde hair frozen in a tight swell. There’s not a strand out of place. Blaine knows it’s pointless to envy a woman who's clearly been styled to an inch of her life by professionals, but he still feels a pang of mild jealousy at how _intentional_ her hair is, when his own efforts always seem to fall short. He'd like to be one of those people who always get things right on the first try.

  
“Remember the end of _Casablanca_? ‘This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’ That could be us, Blaine. You can be Rick, if you want. I don’t mind being Louis. I’ve always admired Ilsa’s quiet strength, but I don’t see how I could be Ilsa if we’re going to be friends instead of romantic partners.”

  
“Yeah,” he says, quietly. He’s a total coward. “That’s us, all right. Rick and Louis.”

  
“We should do something to celebrate our new bond,” she continues. “There’s a revival of _Mame_ playing at the Coronet. Or we could meet for coffee and make lists of the things we have in common. Or you could help me with my songwriting. Are you any good at internal rhyme?”

  
“I don’t know what that is. Hey, Rachel –“

  
“That’s okay. That’s fine.” Her voice is stitched with excitement, and he licks his lips, instinctively. “Whatever you’d like to do. I know it might not always seem like it, but I’m very flexible.”

  
 _Oh_ , he thinks, swallowing. _Well, in that case_. “Let’s get coffee. Tomorrow. Although maybe we could just talk, instead of make lists?”

  
“I can do that,” Rachel says, happily. “I’d be glad to just talk.”

  
He tries not to think about that word, _flexible_ , after he’s off the phone with her, but it’s a lost battle, and the resulting images loop furiously in his mind even after he presses play on the remote. By the time Jimmy’s running up the San Juan Bautista bell tower, chasing after Kim, Blaine’s given up, his hand gently edging against the swell of his groin. He sees Rachel’s legs parting in the stairwell on his screen, Rachel’s slick, open mouth in the stones of the tower. Nothing’s where it should be.

  
 

 _try a little tenderness.  
_

It’s awkward for him, when they’re together, even if she doesn’t seem to notice, and it doesn’t get easier quickly. When they don’t talk, though, that’s his favorite time with Rachel. When they sit together in companionable, unlikely silence, that’s when Blaine feels less anxious. Like maybe it’s not something he needs to figure out right away, why the line of her jaw and the slope of her shoulders make him ache.

  
The first time he kisses Rachel (the third time, really, but he doesn’t count the first two: one was experimental, the other monitored) she makes a surprised squeak against his face and freezes. It’s not the response he was expecting, and he pulls back, quickly.

  
“I thought you were gay,” she stammers. “You told me you were gay.”

  
They’re in his bedroom, sitting on his carpeted floor, a game of half-hearted Monopoly quickly becoming irrelevant in front of them. He’s still got his hand cupped over her jaw, because he’s wanted to do that for at least two weeks now, maybe three, and she looks at him, clearly apprehensive. “You _said_ that,” she repeats, and there’s a note of accusation in her voice. “If you just kissed me because you feel sorry for me, after what I told you about Finn and Quinn –“

  
“No,” he says, immediately. “It’s not pity. It’s you. I can’t stop thinking about you. Your face, and the way you tap a pen against your mouth when you’re deep in thought, and your voice, and your collages, and, I don’t know, your posture, it’s all – it’s everything, Rachel. You’re what I’ve been looking for.” He pauses. “I didn’t know it, but you are, and – here you are.”

  
His fingers slide a little against the skin of her jaw, and her hand reaches up to meet his, pressing over it. “I don’t understand. You’re – straight?”

  
“Look, can we _please_ not try and figure that out right now,” he says, roughly, and leans in to kiss her again. This time, she doesn’t freeze, and he tastes aloe vera from her mouth; vertigo, too.

  
 

 _break it to me gently.  
_

Blaine considers it, for almost a whole day, after the first time they make out. Maybe he really might be straight. Maybe his fantasies about guys are aberrations; something he’ll look back on years from now with a fond, vague recognition. _Believe it or not, I used to think I was – isn’t that funny? Teenagers, huh?_

  
But it doesn’t feel right, in the end. Jake Gyllenhaal and Chase Crawford seriously make his heart race and his palms sweat, and then there’s the fact that sometimes he can’t stop staring at Wes, at the way his slacks press against his thighs, and honestly, he can’t disregard the ample contents of the carefully hidden folder three layers deep in the hard drive of his laptop, labeled PHYSICS HOMEWORK, just in case. Blaine says a firm goodbye to _straight_ , after cataloguing this evidence, and he does it with a small twinge of regret that makes him feel a little ashamed. He shouldn’t regret not being straight, right? He should be proud of who and what he is, whatever that ends up being. Once he figures it out.

  
In the meantime, he doesn’t see any reason why he can’t keep hooking up with Rachel, as long as he’s enjoying it.

  
Kurt has no idea that Blaine’s spending any time with her, and he definitely doesn’t know what Blaine’s doing with that time. Blaine avoids bringing her up during their conversations, mostly because he’s not sure he can talk about Rachel without giving something away. Sure, Kurt’s not the most observant person in the world, but when it comes to Rachel Berry, the kid’s clearly got a competitor’s nose for untold stories. He’d sniff it out.

  
Blaine doesn’t want to hurt him with the truth, even though he’s still a little sore about Kurt’s snippy dismissiveness. It’s pretty clear, how Kurt feels about him, or at least Blaine thinks it’s pretty clear. There’s always a chance he’s misreading signals. But that look on Kurt’s face when he first told him about his date with Rachel, way back when all this started – that hurt, defensive way he pinched his mouth shut, lifting his chin – there’s got to be something behind that look.

  
He talks about everything but Rachel with Kurt, when they hang out, hoping that the more he says, the better he'll feel about everything. It doesn't really matter that some of his topics make Kurt’s eyes glaze over and his smile widen in a polite mask, because, well, at least they’re on safe territory. The Buckeyes. Blaine's mother's frustration with baking puff pastry. Finding jeans that he doesn’t have to get hemmed.

  
Two days after he touches her breasts for the first time – over the shirt _and_ under it – Kurt asks him over coffee how Rachel’s doing, and the unexpected question nearly makes Blaine knock over his cup. _Calm down, you idiot_ , he thinks, and then, _well, she seemed pretty enthusiastic the last time I saw her_. It almost makes him laugh out loud, and he shakes his head quickly, trying to get that memory away before it reveals too much on his face.

  
Judging by Kurt’s frozen, alert expression, though, it might be a little too late for that. “No? No, she’s not okay, or no, you don’t know how she is?”

  
“She’s fine,” he blurts out, which is pretty much the dumbest thing he could’ve said, because now Kurt knows he’s seen Rachel recently.

  
“You’ve actually been hanging out? On a regular basis?” There’s an edge to Kurt’s tone. “I’d imagine that’d be awkward for you, considering her massive crush. She’s not exactly known for being subtle about her feelings.”

  
“Not a lot. I mean, I haven’t seen her a lot – just here and there. We hang out. Talk about old movies, and music, and, you know. It’s nice, actually. She’s really nice.”

  
“You can talk about old movies and music with me, Blaine.” Kurt flips up the lid of his coffee cup, inspecting the inside of it with more interest than it deserves. “I asked you to drive with me to Lima for that revival of _Mame_ , remember? And you said no.”

  
He’d imagined sitting next to Kurt in a dark movie theater, Kurt’s heated attention trained on Blaine rather than the screen, Blaine squirming from the intensity of his focus. “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression,” he explains, quietly. It’s the first really honest thing he’s said to Kurt all day.

  
“Oh,” Kurt says, and then, again, in a small, punctured voice, “Oh. I see.”

  
“Kurt, look –”

  
“No, I understand. I understand, okay? You don’t need to explain it to me like I’m a _child_.” Kurt stands up, abruptly, grabbing his bag. “You go hang out with _Rachel_. Talk to her about whatever you want. Talk to her about, I don’t know, _football_. Talk to her about your mother’s terrible baking. I’m sure she’ll be fascinated. I’ll just be somewhere trying not to accidentally make a sexy face and _repulse_ people.”

  
“You’re being overdramatic,” Blaine protests, reaching out for Kurt’s arm, and Kurt takes a large step, neatly avoiding Blaine’s grip. “Just sit down, Kurt, for crying out loud.”

  
It shouldn’t surprise him so much when Kurt ignores his request and stalks away, shoulders twitching insolently, but it does. It’s the first time Kurt’s ever defied him, or done anything openly that Blaine hasn’t wanted.

  
“Hey, just – come back, please, don’t do that,” he calls after Kurt, and when Kurt doesn’t answer, slamming through the door of the Lima Bean instead, Blaine sits back in his chair, and realizes he’s just made Kurt angry. Angry enough to lose the standard look on his face when he's around Blaine, his flat, glazed stare of adoration he’s always had. It looks good on him, that new sharpness.

  
There must be something wrong with him, because Blaine doesn’t feel guilty, or even relieved, nothing like that. He feels – well, he feels _interested_ ,for the first time _._  Curious, too. It’s the caffeine, though, making his heart pick up a little and his skin creep, it’s got to be, because any other reason for that reaction would, frankly, be ridiculous. It’s Kurt, after all. He’s the same Kurt he’s always been. Nothing's changed.

  
Blaine tells himself this. He’s very convincing, when he needs to be.

  
 

 _the last time I felt like this.  
_

Things shift between the two of them after that, and quickly.

  
Kurt starts making snide comments about Blaine’s solos. Nothing much, just little remarks, tossed out with casual effort, and there’s almost enough humor in them to avoid passive-aggressiveness. Blaine looks at him with amazement after the first slight, and Kurt just stares back, his glare a challenge. _What?_ the glare says. _Come on, Blaine. Call me on it. Courage, right? Remember courage? Or is that a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do kind of thing?  
_

It’s a lot of words for a nonverbal sign. Blaine’s aware he might be projecting, just slightly.

  
He doesn’t say anything to Kurt, though, even after Kurt’s eye rolling during Warblers meetings increases exponentially, because the thing is, he’s supposed to be mad at Kurt about Kurt’s comments, not the other way around. The sudden switch has him a little disoriented, a little possessive: a lot confused. That confusion’s probably why he catches himself looking at the way Kurt’s jacket sleeve rides up over his wrist, exposing the small, white nub of bone there. Or the hollow of his neck just behind his ear, so visible when Kurt tilts his head. Or suddenly discovering the nervous habit Kurt has when he’s concentrating, where his tongue edges out just past his lips, wet and flushed. It’s like someone’s picked Blaine up out of his life and dropped him back down in another part of it, changing his view of the landscape entirely.

  
Rachel’s growing enthusiasm neatly offsets Kurt’s dampened interest; as the latter cools, the former grows. (He can’t help but connect the two, like they’re tied together, Kurt and Rachel, in some zero-sum game with Blaine as the prize.) They still haven’t talked about the details of their relationship, but Blaine’s got a sneaking suspicion that Rachel’s already found a label for what they are to one another. He wishes she’d tell him. It’d be nice to know.

  
There are a lot of things he’d like to know.

  
She brings up Finn too often, when they’re together, and it makes him wince. Not because he’s particularly jealous, but because the pain in her voice is obvious, when she says his name. Other names come up, too, inevitably.

  
“I did this once before,” she tells him, less than two weeks before Regionals. They’re taking a break from kissing on his rec room couch, snuggled together. She’d needed a few minutes to rehydrate and reapply chapstick. “Last year, with another boy. He was the lead of our greatest rival show choir. It was almost exactly like _West Side Story_ , with a few important exceptions.”

  
“Jesse.” He rests his hand on her thigh. He’s heard the story from her. Kurt, too, a while back, only Kurt had told it with a lush inflection appropriate for scandals. In Blaine’s opinion, that’s the only way stories like that should be told.

  
“I think I’m developing an unconscious pattern. I should talk to my therapist about it.” She bites her lip, and places her water cup on the floor next to the couch. “Blaine, I don’t want Finn to find out about this. Not yet. I’m sure you feel the same way about Kurt.”

  
He tries not to react visibly to the second name. “I don’t see what either of them have to do with anything. You’re not with Finn anymore. I’m not with Kurt. I’ve never been with Kurt. We’re not responsible for how they feel.”

  
“But he likes you. Kurt does, I mean.” She snuggles into his chest, raising her head to look up at him. “I know why, too. You’re extremely charming. Say something charming, Blaine. I’m feeling very vulnerable right now. I might even swoon.”

  
“You,” he says, immediately, smiling down at her, “are a pure force of raw talent, held together by a beautiful, beautiful container.”

  
“That, Blaine Warbler, is one of the most romantic things anyone’s ever told me.”

  
He knows she’s not exaggerating. It almost makes him sad, but he forgets to feel badly for her as soon as Rachel kisses him, her tongue overeager. She makes up in energy what she lacks in knowledge.

  
“I think I’ve been waiting for you for a long time,” he says, against her mouth, because he knows she’ll like hearing it, and sure enough, she wriggles happily in his arms. The little noise of pleasure she makes doesn’t sound anything like Kurt, but he’s still there, just the same, writhing inside Blaine’s grip, warm and wanting. He slides a hand over Rachel’s breast, hoping the swell of it beneath his fingers will exorcise the ghost who won’t go away, at least for now. She deserves that much.

  
 

 _all caught up in love.  
_

Pavarotti dies.

  
Kurt sings Paul McCartney’s stirring tribute to the civil rights movement in front of the entire Warbler contingent, and Blaine knows he won’t ever be able to tell Kurt that the blackbird is actually a thinly veiled metaphor for racial oppression, not a reference to an actual bird. Kurt’s heart is in the right place, after all, and that’s what’s important. There isn’t a dry eye in the room; even David looks a little teary.

  
Blaine watches, moving his mouth automatically in harmony, and he stares at Kurt’s white face and prim hands, folded in front of one another. He thinks, unprompted, about Rachel’s light, aroused breathing, the sound of her crowding against Kurt’s song. His palm presses into his thigh, looking for resistance, and he can almost feel the pressure on his spine as Kurt shoves him face down onto a bed or a couch or a table, quickly working his uniform slacks below Blaine's hips. Rachel’s there, too, behind Kurt, her breasts against his back and her hand wrapped around Kurt's cock, guiding it against Blaine's ass –

  
 _Oh, my God, I need you to fuck me_ , he thinks, staring wide-eyed at Kurt, and Kurt sings back at him, blind.

  
He graciously gives up his regionals solo the next day, hoping his motives aren’t written all over his face while he does it. It’s a transparent attempt to get Kurt feeling generous towards him again, and he’s relying on Kurt’s hunger for the spotlight as a nice entryway into – well. It’s a graphic way to put it, but into _Kurt_.

  
(Thoughts like these are crawling under Blaine’s life with greater frequency, lately. He supposes he should be embarrassed by them, especially when they occur to him during class, or rehearsals, or at the dinner table, but the constant half-hard state of his cock is his new norm. When it’s not Kurt in his inward eye, it’s Rachel, and more often than not, lately, it’s both of them.)

  
Kurt’s expression shifts as Blaine explains his choice for a duet partner at regionals, warming with the satisfaction of being wanted. Blaine smiles at him, widely, and Kurt’s answering smile is tentative, careful in the way Kurt’s always careful. There’s promise in it, though. There’s room for Blaine there.

  
He takes his time over the weekend figuring out what he’s going to say to Kurt, writing out sample lines in the margins of his notebook in tiny handwriting to see how they play on the page. _I love you_ is bold, but not believable, after all those weeks of rejection. _I want you_ is definitely true, but not romantic enough for Kurt. _You complete me_ makes Blaine think of Renée Zellweger. _To me, you’re perfect_ is overkill. It’s like that story about Goldilocks and the three bears and imbalance: too much, not enough.

  
Turns out _you move me_ is his slightly cooled porridge, his perfect sized-chair, his soft-enough bed: just right. Kurt’s hand comes up to touch Blaine’s jaw as they kiss, and his fingers move against Blaine’s face with a startled, fluttering need that makes Blaine think, inevitably, of Rachel.

  
He closes his eyes tightly and pushes Rachel out. Kurt deserves that much.

  
 

 _nobody does it better.  
_

Their duet at Regionals is just barely on the right side of mediocre, and he’s being generous in his self-assessment. It’s not surprising, really. Blaine had been too distracted by Kurt’s mouth and Kurt’s shy fingers to spend much time thinking about vocal arrangements, or blending. Kurt, who usually has pitch a tuning fork would envy, trends a little sharp. Blaine slides from note to note without the finesse their number needs.

  
It turns out he doesn’t give a damn about trophies, after all, and he doesn’t even feel guilty about it. Blaine’s got exactly what he wants.

  
He watches Rachel with rapt awe from the audience when it’s her turn on stage, her mouth bright and her hands trembling with the concentrated joy of performance. Next to him, Kurt lets out a little sigh of appreciation for her voice, apparently willing to set aside any lingering vitriol for the moment. Blaine resists the temptation to take Kurt’s hand in his, to squeeze it tightly in pride: for Rachel, for the two of them, and, privately, for the balancing act he’s been able to pull off this far.

  
(Blaine knows he can’t keep it up forever. He knows he’ll have to choose between them, at some point. It’s not something he wants to think about right now, especially while he’s seeing Rachel grabbing at the audience with everything she’s got, feeling the press of Kurt’s arm against his.)

  
They lose.

___

  
“We won each other,” he says to Kurt, at Pavarotti’s grave, and it sounds perfect.

___

  
He answers his phone when Rachel calls the next day, even though he’s at the Lima Bean with Kurt right across the table from him. It turns out to be a huge mistake, because Rachel wants to know if he and Kurt would please stop by her house on Sunday night. She’ll provide a little nosh for them, as is the duty of a good hostess, but she’s very sorry, there won’t be any alcohol this time. Maybe sparkling cider.

  
Blaine’s suddenly alarmed. Not that much, and there’s a little excitement mixed in with the adrenaline, but he thinks he can guess exactly what she wants to talk about. It isn’t promising.

  
“I won’t keep you very late, of course,” she informs him, sensing his unease. “I know it’s a school night. I don’t want you or Kurt to miss out on your rest. Especially not Kurt. He’s already so pale, and it really shows on his face the next day when he hasn’t had enough sleep. But it’s important that I speak with you both. Extremely important.”

  
“Can you tell me why, Rachel?” he asks, watching Kurt, who takes a careful sip of his coffee. “I’d kind of like to know what you want to talk about before I drive all the way out there.”

  
“Not over the phone. I need to say this to you both in person. Please, Blaine?”

  
“It’s fine,” Kurt mouths, quietly, and his face is soft with affection for Blaine, magnanimous in victory. “Just say yes to whatever she wants.”

  
He does. He really can’t deny them both.

  
 

 _don’t know where you leave off.  
_

She walks them down into the basement. For privacy, Blaine guesses, even though no one seems to be home. As they descend, Rachel leading, Kurt puts his hand on Blaine’s back. _Mine_ , it says, loudly, even though Rachel’s not looking behind her to see it.

  
“I,” Rachel announces, when they’ve reached the bottom of the stairs. She pauses, giving Blaine just enough time to reflect on the amount of emphasis she’s put on the single vowel: Rachel’s favorite word. “I’ve called you two here for a very important reason.”

  
“That’s what you told me.” The basement’s even uglier than Blaine remembered. He thinks he can still smell the sharp reek of vodka, even though it’s been almost a month since the party. Maybe it’s sense memory, or something. “Where’s your dads? Out of town again?”

  
“Oh, no. It’s their night for dinner and drinks at the Lamplighter. They enjoy dressing up like Don Draper’s friend Roger Sterling, sipping at gin martinis, and eating medium-rare steak. It’s all wonderfully classy, and they’ve promised me that when I turn twenty-one, I can join them.”

  
“That sounds nice.” It sounds weird, actually. Also, he’s starting to wonder, just a tiny bit, if Rachel’s actually reenacting some musical theater version of _Psycho_ , with her parents playing the role of Mother Bates. It’s a mean thought, but he can’t help it. Blaine sneaks a glance at Kurt, who catches his eye, and looks as though he knows exactly what Blaine’s thinking.

  
“Very nice. Please, Blaine – Kurt – take a seat. Can I get you anything to drink? Ginger ale, or maybe a sparkling water? I also have Chex Mix, if you’re hungry.”

  
She sounds like she’s googled the phrase “how to treat your guests” and memorized the first couple of results. The formality of it is oddly endearing; how hard Rachel’s trying to do the right thing. Blaine can appreciate that.

  
“I’m fine,” he assures her, making his way over to sit on the couch, and Kurt joins him, perching on the edge, almost close enough to signal possessive interest. “So, uh, what’d you want us to come by for, Rachel?”

  
“Well.” Rachel laces her fingers together, hands resting against the front of her plaid skirt. “I’m sure you’re both aware of how awkward things have been for the three of us, since the night of my party. I don’t think I need to expand on that.”

  
Blaine shakes his head, dreading what’s coming, wondering how she’s found out about him and Kurt. It's foolish, he knows, but he’d really just hoped they could somehow keep things going the way they’d been. At least until he’s figured out which one of them he wants more. At least until he stops thinking about one when he’s with the other.

  
“A little more awkward for _some_ of us, honestly,” Kurt says, and lets out a little laugh. “But I forgive you, Rachel. I understand how seductive it must’ve been to think Blaine was interested in you.” He looks at Blaine, smiling, his eyelashes fluttering just a bit. That must be one of the faces Kurt _hasn’t_ practiced. It doesn’t look ridiculous at all.

  
Rachel glares at Kurt. “Yes. A little more awkward for _some_ of us. Kurt, Blaine, I've invited you here because I wanted to discuss your decision to take your friendship to the next level.”

  
Kurt looks as though he's going to ask why that's any of her concern, and Blaine, not wanting Kurt to dig a deeper hole, rushes to ask the question that's been rolling in his mind since Rachel's phone call.

  
“Well, I watched you perform,” she tells him, smiling a little. It’s a sad smile. “You looked at him exactly like Robert Redford looks at Barbra in _The Way We Were_. It’s a very telling look. I should know. Finn used to look at me like that. Also, Kurt sent out a mass text with a lot of exclamation points after the two of you kissed for the first time.”

  
“Oh.” He hadn’t known about the text. It explains a lot. “Look, Rachel, I don’t - “

  
“You _did_ hurt me, Blaine,” she interrupts. “I felt terrible when I saw that text. It’s true that we didn’t talk about being exclusive, but I was under the impression that you and I were progressing towards something monogamous. I even used my relationship chapstick with you – the one that tastes like strawberries. That chapstick is only for people I’m in a relationship with. That’s why I call it relationship chapstick.”

  
It was, he has to admit, an improvement over the aloe vera.

  
“Blaine?” Kurt’s asking, and Blaine glances at him. “What’s she talking about? This is just patented Rachel Berry overinvestment, right? Bunny-boiler-in-training talk?”

  
The fact that he’s know this was coming doesn’t make it any easier now that it’s here, and Blaine suddenly feels the full weight of his careless, well-intentioned chasing. “No,” he says, unable to deny it.

  
Kurt’s mouth drops open. Not a little. A lot. For some weird reason, Blaine remembers that creepy dead girl from the beginning of _The Ring_ , sitting in her closet with her jaw unhinged. It’s pretty much the most unappealing image he can think of, and he tries to push it away; tries to replace it with something else, as quickly as he can. Popsicles. He’s really into popsicles. Cherry popsicles. Rachel Berry sucking on a cherry popsicle, that little talented tongue of hers edging the top – and he’s half-hard, that quickly. Shit. _Shit_.

  
“I thought you said you were completely gay.” Kurt sounds incredibly pissed off, his voice cracking with the force of it, and what’s wrong with Blaine that he's finding that kind of hot, too? “Remember what you said? Completely gay? One hundred percent gay? You know, Blaine, I’m pretty sure one hundred percent gay doesn’t include any percent _non_ gay.”

  
“I’m sort of terrible at math?” Blaine tries, and smiles at him. Maybe being cute might take the edge off their exchange, just a little. “I might have, uh. Added wrong, or something. Sorry about that.”

  
Kurt doesn’t take the cute bait. “Don't you dare try that tone with me. I will _kick_ you."

  
“Are you serious? Kurt –”

  
“Guys?” Rachel’s raising her hand, waving it in the air, like she’s in _school_. “Guys? Can I break in here?”

  
“No,” Kurt snaps, just as Blaine says, grateful for the interruption, “Please do.”

   
“I just want to say, Blaine, that although I’m still a little hurt by your non-disclosed wooing of Kurt, I’ve decided that it’s understandable. You're clearly going through a very confusing sexuality crisis. And, as your committed friend-plus, I’d be glad to help you in whatever way I can. It’s just like Ali MacGraw says: Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” She pauses for emphasis. “I’ve always wanted to use that in a conversation. I know it doesn’t fit the moment exactly, but the emotion’s right.”

  
“It doesn’t fit the moment at _all_.” Kurt looks petulant. “And Ali MacGraw had terrible hair, Rachel. _Terrible_.”

  
Blaine sucks air between his teeth. “Low blow. Wow.”

  
“It also might make you feel better, Kurt,” Rachel continues, undeterred, “to know that Blaine hasn’t met me for any illicit encounters since he first kissed you. Technically, he hasn’t cheated.”

  
“Oh, I feel tons better,” Kurt says, flatly. “Thanks for that information, Rachel. Really.”

  
“You’re very welcome.” Either she’s not hearing the sarcasm, or she’s not choosing to acknowledge it. “I do think his feelings for you are legitimate ones. It’s difficult to fake that kind of stage presence during a duet. When Finn and I performed together, our attraction was completely undeniable.”

  
“No, she’s right,” Blaine hastens to add, because the look on Kurt’s face is making him feel increasingly guilty. It’s got to be difficult for the kid, he realizes; finding out that the guy he’s clearly head over heels for hasn’t been exactly upfront about his other side project. The last thing he’d wanted to do was hurt him, but it seems as though it’s a little late for that. “I never lied to you, Kurt. About any of it. I care about you. I care about Rachel, too, but nothing I said to you was false. You –“

  
“I _move_ you. Right.”

  
“Yes,” Blaine says, simply, and takes his hand. “You do. Your voice, and your smile, and the way you walk. Your bravery. Your wit. Your penchant for devastatingly precise observations.” There’s a brief slice of small panic through him, as he tries to remember if he’s said any of this to Rachel, but he focuses on Kurt, hoping that Rachel’s memory is unreliable. “You’re lit from within, Kurt. You’ve got fires banked down in you.”

  
“ _The Philadelphia Story_ ,” Kurt interjects, but he’s smiling a little, now, and he doesn’t pull away from Blaine’s touch. Blaine hasn’t underestimated just how much Kurt enjoys being needed. “Well, at least you’ve got good enough taste to steal from the best."

  
“It’s not stealing. It’s an homage. And really, with those cheekbones of yours –”

  
Rachel clears her throat, and they both turn in her direction, Kurt’s hand warm and solid in Blaine’s. She’s still standing like she’s about to make a presentation in front of a classroom, her hands primly folded in front of her, against her skirt. “Blaine,” she says. “Kurt. I think – I’d like to propose something a little unorthodox.”

  
 

 _can it be all so simple._

  
“That’s crazy,” he says, finally. “You’ve lost it, Rachel. That’s not a solution to _anything_.”

  
Blaine’s mind runs. Sure, he’s thought about it – maybe not directly, but it’s been in the back of his fantasies: the three of them, together, relieving Blaine of the pressure of having to keep one at bay while the other’s in his arms. He’d never thought of actually proposing it, though. But now that Rachel’s brought it up –

  
“I’ve always had a very specific idea of what my first time would be like,” Rachel continues. “Sexually, I mean. I would be approximately twenty-four. There would be dim lighting, and music. Not Barbra, because that might be too emotionally overwhelming for me, but lately I’ve been considering the greatest hits of Joan Baez. It would be in a bed, because I understand from extensive research that beaches aren’t pleasant places for intercourse. Apparently, sand gets _inside_ you. I’m not exactly sure how, though.”

  
“As fascinating as your fantasy life is, Rachel,” Kurt informs her, “I’d appreciate it if you got to the point before we all shrivel up from the ravages of old age, okay?”

  
She shoots him an irritated glare, and takes a deep, dramatic breath. “ _However_. The results of my highly tragic romances have taught me that, as John Lennon famously said, life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans. And as intimidated as I am by the idea of my first real sexual experience being with more than one person in the room, I have to admit, I’m a more than a little intrigued by the prospect. I imagine it’ll give me a lot of inspiration for my song writing sessions. Mr. Schue might ask me to come up with something for Nationals, after all. And it would make – ” She closes her mouth on that last thought, leaving it incomplete.

  
“It might not be such a bad idea.” Blaine knows he’s grasping at straws, but the words keep coming, anyway, in ridiculous jets, fast and incoherent. “I could – explore that side of me, and I could do it with you, Kurt, so, you know, it might be a bonding experience or something. For the two of us. And we don’t have to, uh, go all the way or anything, I mean, no one needs to. Unless we want to. We wouldn’t have to do anything we weren’t comfortable with, or touch any bodies or, uh, parts, that we didn’t want to touch.”

  
“Am I seriously the only one here who’s seen _Chasing Amy_?” Kurt asks, incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is – Blaine, I can’t even form words to explain what a terrible, terrible idea this is. We’re talking _Glitter_ levels of terrible here.”

  
Rachel gasps in dismay.

  
“Yes,” Kurt says, glaring at her. “ _Glitter_ , Rachel. That’s how bad this idea is. I’m comparing it to Mariah Carey gyrating in a sequined dress while attempting to emote way, _way_ out of her acting range.”

  
Blaine has no idea what Kurt’s talking about. He doesn’t watch films with Mariah Carey in them. “Look,” he interrupts. “Kurt, if you don’t want to do this, that’s all right. I don’t want to you to do anything that would make you uncomfortable. But speaking for myself, it might help me figure things out about what and who I want. I know I want you, and I know –” He looks away, briefly. “I know I want Rachel. I’m just being honest. Maybe if I’m with you both, I might be able to finally make a real choice for myself.”

  
It doesn’t make much logical sense to him, when he says it out loud, but it sounds good, anyway, and his voice rings with sincerity.

  
Kurt stares down at his lap. Blaine guesses that he's tempted by the possibilities of that choice in his mind, the likelihood that Kurt himself would be the one chosen. He hasn’t underestimated Kurt’s desire to be unequivocally first with someone. “You don’t know that it would actually help you choose,” he says, slowly, his outrage thinning into disquiet. “And I – Blaine. This is a _bad_ idea.”

  
“If you’re uncomfortable expressing your sexuality with a girl present,” Rachel says, earnestly, “I completely understand, Kurt. It’s just a suggestion. We really don’t have to do it.”

  
“I _know_ we don't,” Kurt insists. “And it’s not just about doing – you know, _that_ , or whatever we’d do – with you in the room. That’s part of it. Believe me, having Rachel Berry present during an intimate moment is so far down on my bucket list, it isn’t even funny. But it’s also –“ He mumbles something, and Blaine asks him, gently, to repeat it. “Doing things at all, okay? I’m – it makes me nervous.”

  
“Sex?”

  
“Yeah. And– “

  
“ _Wanting_ it,” Kurt says, in a rush. “That too. I’ve never – not like this.”

  
“You –“ There’s a kick of arousal in Blaine’s groin. “You want –?”

  
Kurt flushes, still staring at his lap. “I want to do things. Sex things. With you. Do I really have to be specific?”

  
 _Could you?_ , Blaine thinks, but he says, “No, of course not.” And then: “I, uh. I’d like that a lot. Doing things.”

  
Rachel swallows, audibly.

  
Kurt raises his head again, staring at Blaine, his lips parted just a little bit, and either this is another one of those faces he hasn’t practiced, or Kurt’s getting way, way better at being sexy. Whatever. It works. It’s working great. Something about Kurt’s intensity is doing it for him.

  
“I can’t stop,” Kurt confesses. “Thinking about – it. It’s ridiculous. It happens when I’m out in _public_ , for crying out loud. At school. Or when I look over at you in practice.”

  
“That’s normal,” Blaine says, glad he can be the one to tell Kurt his feelings aren’t unusual, but he’s remembering watching Kurt sing “Blackbird” and the fantasy of Rachel holding him against Kurt’s ass. His half-hard cock stirs a little more, lengthening inside the strain of his jeans, and oh, God, maybe it could actually _happen_. “I think those things about you too. During school. At practice. We could do some of them now, here.”

  
He watches Kurt’s hands sliding over his thighs, back and forth, back and forth. The movement looks increasingly to Blaine like a forerunner to assent.

  
“Just – don’t leave me out during, okay?” Kurt mutters. “If I participate, I don’t want to be a fifth wheel.”

  
Blaine’s about to correct him, to explain that the expression is _third_ wheel, not fifth, because cars have four wheels and so – wait, no, Kurt might have gotten this one right, actually, but then Rachel’s exclaiming, “Oh, Kurt,” and rushing forward. She grabs Kurt’s face in her hands and kisses him, actually _kisses_ him like it’s not the weirdest possible decision she could’ve made. Blaine can’t do anything but watch, trying not to look nearly as surprised as he feels. Kurt’s making these weird little sounds against her mouth, almost like shock or protest, but he’s not pushing her off, and Rachel isn’t letting go.

  
It’s a long kiss. It’s a very long kiss.

  
“Kurt,” she says, when she finally pulls back, standing again and Kurt takes a deep breath, staring at her. Blaine half expects him to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, but he doesn’t. “If you’re not all right with this arrangement, please say so. We can stop. We can forget the whole thing. But I promise, Blaine’s not going to forget _you_. Neither of us will, if we go ahead.”

  
Kurt looks he doesn’t think Rachel understands anything, but he shakes his head, slowly. “I think – I want to,” he says, and his voice shakes a little, too. “If it’s what Blaine wants.”

  
Yes, it’s what Blaine wants. It really is.

  
 

 _how do you do a show._

He kisses Kurt first, licking Rachel off his mouth.

  
Kurt moves closer, disappearing the small distance between them on the couch. Blaine can feel how tense he is, muscles taut with the knowledge that Rachel’s watching the two of them. He can sense her. He knows she’s just as tightly strung as Kurt.

  
“I’ll be right back,” Rachel tells them, and she sounds a little winded. “We need to – we need protection. Just in case we decide we want to. You know. Penetrate. Any of us.”

  
“You have some?” Blaine breaks away from Kurt to look at her, but he’s having some trouble focusing. Kurt’s hand on his arm is promising him all kinds of wordless things. “Some, uh. Condoms?” Well, one of them should be able to say it.

  
Rachel nods, her flushed face blurring a bit with the speed of it. “My dads bought some for me when Finn and I first started dating. We might need some towels, too. I’ll be right back,” she says, again, and rushes up the stairs, feet pounding on the flight.

  
“Do you feel –”  _Nervous_ , Blaine’s about to ask, but then Kurt fists a hand in Blaine’s shirt, yanking Blaine to him, and they’re kissing in earnest, now, Kurt’s tongue sliding over Blaine’s teeth, Kurt nearly crawling into Blaine’s lap. It’s uncharacteristically aggressive. He’s never seen Kurt like this before.

  
“ _God_ ,” he gasps, pulling back, “you don’t –” and he feels Kurt’s other hand trembling over the button of his jeans. “You don’t have to – hey, slow down –”

  
“We only have a – while we’re –”

  
While they’re alone, Blaine realizes, and suddenly understands that Kurt wants to prove something about Rachel’s unimportance before she gets back. Like this is a contest Kurt thinks he can win, somehow, by racing towards a finish line.

  
Kurt scrambles at the zipper, yanking it down. Blaine knows he should stop him, because it isn’t fair to Rachel, but seeing Kurt like this – so unexpectedly demanding – is making him impossibly harder. He groans, lifting his hips towards Kurt’s touch.

  
“Blaine,” Kurt says, breaking the word into two shaky syllables, and then he’s pushing a tentative hand beneath Blaine’s boxers, fingers closing around his cock. Blaine inhales at the touch, a shaky whistle of air between closed teeth. It’s the first time anyone’s actually held him down there (not including the frequent contact he’s had with his own hand), and he’s shocked at how different it feels. Lighter. Smoother, even.

  
“We should, we should wait for,” Blaine tries, except Kurt’s stroking him now under the cloth, fast and firm and rough, and he can’t think enough to finish his –

  
There’s Rachel, on the stairs: feet hammering down.

  
Blaine looks up, mouth open with helpless need, and she sees him as she’s crossing the room; sees Kurt with his hand inside Blaine’s boxers. She’s carrying several hand towels and a strip of condoms. Maybe six or seven. (He’s not exactly sure why Rachel thinks they’ll need that many.)

  
“I wasn’t sure how many to get,” she says, like she’s read his mind, but she’s staring at the scene in front of her. “I figured it was better to be safe than sorry. Kurt, what are you doing?”

  
“What does it look like?” Kurt’s pumping harder now, focused on the task at hand, and Blaine groans, lifting his hips off the couch. It’s rough without lotion. He’s finding that he likes it rough. “This is _my boyfriend_ , Rachel.” Both words are equally waited, like the possession and Blaine’s label matter just the same amount. “I’m in the process of giving him a handjob. Do you have a problem with that?”

  
“You,” she hisses, shaking the strip of condoms in Kurt's general direction, “are being rude. And petty. It makes you look incredibly unattractive.”

  
“You don’t get to talk about looks when you’ve modeled yours after a ‘before’ picture,” Kurt snaps, still jerking his fist.

  
Rachel drops the condoms and towels on the floor, and Blaine panics as she rushes over to them, because he’s not exactly sure what she’s going to do when she gets there. “Wait. Stop, Kurt. Just hold on. We need to include Rachel.”

  
Reluctantly, Kurt slides his hand out and away, settling back against the couch with a look of stubborn disappointment on his face. “Fine. How do we do this, anyway? Is there a protocol?”

  
Blaine has no idea. He’s still hard enough that he can’t think of a response that won’t sound like complete gibberish.

  
Rachel stares at his open pants, at the bulge tenting his boxers beneath the gap of the fly. “I didn’t have the foresight to do research,” she says, “but I would _assume_ that jumping on one of the participants while the other is out of the room isn’t considered polite behavior.”

  
“Rachel, you could get on my lap to start,” Blaine says, quickly, just as Kurt opens his mouth to retort. He doesn’t want things to get out of hand, and someone’s got to take action to keep this on course and reasonably friendly. It’ll have to be him. “Maybe just, uh, kind of straddle me?”

  
Her face relaxes out of its pique, and she nods, stepping over him, one foot on either side of his own. Next to him on the couch, Kurt inhales as Rachel lowers herself onto Blaine’s lap, legs folded, knees pressing against the outside of his thighs. Blaine grabs impulsively for Kurt’s hand, wanting to touch him, too. God, Rachel’s warm: he can feel her through the denim. He lifts up a little off the couch, trying to get closer, wanting that warmth on his cock. The pressure, too.

  
“Move – please,” he says, a little too sharply, “move,” before Kurt’s first and middle fingers press over Blaine’s mouth and he licks at them without thinking. Kurt makes a startled, strangled sound, and that’s when Rachel _moves_ , oh, she really does, her hips rolling forward and her crotch pressing on his.

  
Blaine closes his eyes, briefly, and grips the top of Rachel’s thighs as she grinds against him, pushing far enough under her skirt so that he’s touching the elastic border of her panties. Kurt slips his fingers between Blaine’s lips, and he sucks at them, wanting Kurt to react. He does, and the low whine makes Blaine jerk his hips up into Rachel.

  
Oh,” Rachel gasps, and grabs at his shirt, looking for something to steady her. “Could you – Blaine, I’d like it if you’d – “

  
He thinks he knows what she means, or, at least, he knows what he’d like to do, and slips one of his fingers beneath the elastic. Rachel tenses as he wanders into the tight coils of her damp hair and says, softly, “Like that. Yes.”

  
Kurt pushes farther into Blaine’s mouth, past his teeth and over his eager tongue, until his knuckles meet Kurt’s lips, and Blaine wonders briefly if Kurt wants him to choke a little. He wouldn’t mind. His own finger pushes between Rachel’s folds, and she squirms. 

  
“You’re so wet,” he tells her, trying to talk around Kurt’s insistent hand, because he wants Rachel to know he’s noticed. "You'll rub it onto my jeans if you're not careful.” He doesn't realize how much the idea of that turns him on until he says it: sneaking into his room at home later, making sure no one sees the patches of denim stiff with Rachel Berry's arousal.

  
Rachel takes a deep breath. She’s probably imagining it too.

  
“I don’t want to know those things,” Kurt says, too quickly. “Could you keep that information to yourself for right now, Blaine?”

  
Blaine closes his mouth over Kurt’s fingers and resumes sucking in response, because he’s nothing if not willing to cater to Kurt’s needs right now, especially when Kurt’s starting to breathe a little faster. His finger finds the opening he’s looking for, and he pushes inside her blindly as Rachel, whimpering high in her throat, grabs at Kurt’s neck and shoulders – to pull him closer? – to do what?

  
He doesn’t find out, because Kurt pulls back, abruptly, and his fingers slide out of Blaine’s mouth. “I’m not ready for that,” he blurts out. “I don’t want to be touched yet, please.”

  
“What can I – ” Blaine’s gripping Rachel’s hip with one hand, his other hand still working between her thighs. “Kurt, I want to make it good for you. Tell me –”

  
“Blaine,” Rachel interrupts, and she sounds breathless. “Why don’t you explain to Kurt what you’re feeling right now? Words can be extremely arousing – _ah_.” He’s found a spongy sort of place, and she seems to like it. Blaine presses against the wall, testing. She moans. “Say – how I’m making you feel. Say what you want Kurt to do.”

  
Blaine looks at Kurt. He’s far paler than usual, which Blaine would’ve thought impossible, but his cheeks are flushed. It’s unclear whether it’s arousal or embarrassment causing the color. “Yes,” Kurt whispers. “You could do that.”

  
Rachel raises a hand to her breasts as he begins to talk, and he watches, fascinated, as she pinches first one nipple, than the other, looking for stimulation. He’s never written down this kind of talk in a notebook, in tiny handwriting or otherwise, and he stumbles over his words as he says them. “I want – I’m so hard right now. Kurt, I want your hand on me again. I’ve been thinking about that for so long.“ (Two weeks is a long time, by some standards.) “You – I want to fuck your fist. Your mouth, and – _Jesus_ , Rachel.” She’s suddenly wetter, around his hand, dripping a little onto the back of it. He had no idea that was possible.

  
“Oh,” Kurt says. “Blaine –” He’s panting, now, and Blaine watches as his hands skirt around the top of his lap, over the sides of his groin, not quite touching. He wonders just how aroused Kurt is, and guesses quite a lot. Not enough, though, to be desperate. Not yet.

  
“If Kurt still isn’t ready to be touched,” Rachel interrupts, clenching a little around his finger, “I’d like to try something. Now, while I’m still – well, I’ve read about it before, and it sounds like something I’d enjoy.”

  
“What?” He tries to think what she could mean, and hopes, fervently, it’s not something that requires him to get in an advanced position. Blaine doesn’t have the experience, knowledge, or presence of mind to arrange his body into anything creative.

  
“Cunnilingus. That’s oral sex on a woman.”

  
“I know what it is,” Blaine says, a little relieved. “Kurt, are you –“

  
“I am not performing cunnilingus on Rachel. Absolutely not.”

  
“Not intending anything of the sort. I just meant to ask, are you all right with that? If I - perform cunnilingus on her. While you watch.”

  
“He doesn’t have to just watch,” Rachel breathes, her hips still rolling against Blaine’s hand. “He could participate by telling you what to do.”

  
(Rachel stands while Blaine kneels in front of her. Kurt forces his head against Rachel’s pussy, holding him firmly, and Kurt’s hard cock bumps against the back of Blaine’s head. He says: _eat her. do it_.)

  
“Yes,” Blaine gasps, still staring at Kurt. “Please, Kurt. I want –”

  
Kurt’s eyes are huge. He looks at Rachel, and nods.

  
 

 _‘cause I believe in loving._

 __  
Rachel doesn’t stand, after all. She sits, primly, on the edge of the couch, as far forward as she can slide without falling off.

  
“I’d rather be sitting,” she explains, when Blaine suggests that maybe she might be better off in another position. “I’m feeling a little shaky, probably from arousal. This way, I can grab onto the seat cushions if I need to. Did you want me to take off my skirt, or my blouse, or anything else? It seems kind of strange, still wearing so much when we’re being very intimate.”

  
They both tell her no, simultaneously, Kurt’s eyes still a little too big. Blaine thinks he can guess Kurt’s reasons for wanting Rachel to remain clothed. His own, though, are very different. There’s something about the idea of slipping his head beneath Rachel’s skirt that excites him: being confined between her thighs and under the fabric.

  
He kneels in front of her, trying to get comfortable. She readily parts her knees, and his hands aren’t as steady as he’d like them to be as he reaches underneath her skirt for her underpants. Rachel lifts off the couch an inch or two, to oblige him. They’re nothing fancy, just simple bikini-cut cotton panties, but to Blaine they’re more titillating than just about any item he can imagine, just because they’ve been tucked against her all this time.

  
“Kurt,” he says, bending down his head a little towards her as she kicks off the underwear he's pulled down. “Will you instruct me? I want you to tell me what to do to her, all right?”

  
He hears a noise from Kurt behind him that sounds like choked agreement.

  
“There are a few words I’d specifically like you to use in your instructions to Blaine,’” Rachel says above him, a little unsteadily. “'Clitoris' is one of them. Or ‘clit,’ if you’d prefer the casual version. It’s actually a clinical term. You find it in textbooks. Ms. Holliday even wrote it on the whiteboard during class, remember? It’s not as though I’m asking you to say –” She hesitates, for a brief second. “Pussy. Or cunt. Not that I think there’s anything –”

  
“Oh, my _God_ , just, seriously, Rachel, I need you to stop talking _right now_ ,” Kurt interjects, shrilly, and Blaine rests his cheek against Rachel’s thigh, overwhelmed by the graphic words she’s used. Her smell, too. He’s heard other guys talk about eating out girls before. Usually the discussion’s tinged with a hint of disgust, but now that he’s up close, Blaine’s suddenly thinking he’d like to swallow down as much of her as he can. His cock pulses, and he reaches between his legs to cup it through his open pants, over his boxers.

  
“Shit,” he says, and then, “Kurt, just fucking _direct_ me already, I’m going to come if I don’t do something, and I don’t want to come yet, so _please_.”

  
Kurt’s voice shakes. “Lick her thigh,” he says, very quietly. “Upwards. Towards her - you know.”

  
Blaine obeys, pressing his tongue flat against the smooth skin, and slides up under her skirt. It’s dark here, but he’s guessing he’s too close to see much of anything even if she was exposed, and anyway, he knows exactly where he’s going. He pushes his boxers and jeans down as best he can, managing enough inches so that his cock springs out, slapping up against his skin. It's a little weird, still being mostly clothed, but taking the time to strip isn't high on his list of priorities right now.

  
“More,” Rachel pants, and he knows she’s talking to Kurt. “I need more.”

  
“Open her up with your tongue,” Kurt whispers, and there’s something about the way he says it that lets Blaine knows this is something Kurt wants Blaine to do to him. The realization almost makes him come right there but he can’t, he can’t spoil this, and so he tries to focus on the task in front of him: Rachel, wet and ready.

  
“He’s aroused, Blaine,” Rachel says, from far away, as he licks a careful stripe down her cleft, nudging inside a little with his tongue; pushing in a finger, too. “I can see it.”

  
“Rachel,” Kurt starts, but her name is threadbare in his mouth, and he doesn’t continue.

  
“Well, you _are_. It’s obvious. And I think Blaine would want to know. Don’t you?”

  
“Yes,” Blaine says, into her, muffled, and she shudders a little with the vibration of the word. “Tell me. Say more. Loudly, so I can hear you.”

  
He’s not sure, for a moment, if she’s able to understand his muffled voice, because she doesn’t answer right away, but then he hears, “I can see the shape of his penis. His hand keeps moving next to his thigh like he wants to touch it but ca– _oh_ , oh, my _God_.”

  
Blaine’s apparently found the right spot with his tongue, and he’s done it without being directed by either of them. He pushes at it, just a little, with the tip, feeling around the firm nub of wet skin, and fucks her slowly with his finger.

  
Her legs shake in place like she’s being jolted. “Yes,” she says, pushing herself up a little, her thighs pressing over his cheeks and ears, until he’s nearly deaf with her, and mute, too. “Oh, please, yes, that’s so _good_.”

  
Kurt groans behind him, and Blaine isn’t sure if it’s due to Rachel’s pleading or the fact that Blaine’s fumbling for his straining cock with his free hand, pulling at it in short, increasingly urgent strokes. He’s never wanted another set of eyes more than right now: to have in his sightline both Rachel, open for him, and Kurt, shaking with nerves and need.

  
“Pull his hair, Rachel,” Kurt says, in the distance, “please, do that,” and Rachel does, dragging him into her. For a second, he can’t breathe, and he has to angle his face up to free his nose. He chokes, mouth working against her, his chin jutting against the wet flesh.

  
“ _Hand_ ,” Blaine manages. “Kurt –“ Even though it sounds incomprehensible to his obstructed ears, Kurt seems to understand, because after a moment he feels the gift of another hand pushing his own off his cock. Kurt’s palm feels slick, and Blaine wonders if he’s licked it, first. He shudders, hips twitching, and his teeth scrape down the smooth skin just above Rachel’s clit as Kurt moves his hand. It’s not as rough as he’d been, earlier, and Blaine whines against Rachel’s pussy, wanting it harder, coarser.

  
Rachel comes with a sharp cry, clenching her thighs. Blaine rides it out as best he can, swallowing her shudder with a sense of real awe. He’s done this to her. He’s brought her here.

  
Kurt’s still moving his fist with determination, just south of a good rhythm, and as Rachel relaxes back against the couch, breathing heavily, Blaine lifts his head and hand out from under her skirt. The light disorients him, for a second. There’s Kurt, though, to his right, coming quickly into focus: he’s kneeling next to him, still stroking Blaine’s cock, the other pushing against his groin through his pants, and oh _fuck_ , when Blaine sees _that_ –

  
“I can’t,” he gasps, need tripping over his tongue. “I can’t. Let me, please, I want to touch you, I want to suck you –“

  
“I’m so – _ah_ – “ Kurt whimpers, and Blaine doesn’t care how ridiculous it is. He falls on him, pushing Kurt to the floor, and his hands are stupid with hurry.

  
His mouth still tastes like Rachel when he grabs the base of Kurt’s cock and takes the head between his lips, but she’s gone after his tongue pads over the slit, newly slick with precome. It’s Kurt in his mouth now: sharp and brackish. They’re in a terrible position. Kurt’s flat on his back, pants shoved down to his thighs, and Blaine’s leaning over him on the floor, propping himself up with his free hand. It’s hurting his shoulder, but he doesn’t care, because Kurt’s making the sounds he’s made in Blaine’s fantasies for the last two weeks: loose, low moans. He thrusts up hard into Blaine’s mouth and Blaine nearly gags, signaling _not so hard, not so much_.

  
Kurt says something incomprehensible and already he’s coming, too quickly, shaking up off the floor. Blaine grabs at his hip to push him down – he’ll jerk right out of Blaine’s mouth if he doesn’t stop _moving_ like that – and sucks as best he can, sucks like he’d like to be sucked, seeing him through.

  
“Sorry,” Kurt offers, breathlessly, from his prone position on the floor, as Blaine pulls back, swallowing, and wipes at his mouth. “That was fast.”

  
“It’s fine,” Blaine manages, sitting up, and returns his hand to his cock, stroking again. He’s right on the edge, and it shouldn’t take him more than a few quick  movements to bring him over.

  
“Wait - “

  
Somehow - he doesn’t know how - he’d almost forgotten Rachel. She jumps off the couch, crouching down to meet them on the floor, and her smile is beautiful because he knows instinctively what it means for him. “Kurt,” she says, and they exchange a quick look. “Help me?”

  
Kurt pushes himself up from his prone position, still trembling a little, and says nothing as he reaches for the base of Blaine’s cock, gripping tightly. Rachel touches the head with her fingers, and as Kurt begins to stroke, up and down, she moves, too. They’re not in sync, and Rachel's caressing him way more lightly than he'd like, but he watches as Kurt’s fist slides up his cock to meet Rachel’s hand, repeatedly, their skin bumping, and he comes with a groan over her fingers.

  
He throws his head back and they're gone from him, too quickly.

  
“It’s a good thing I brought towels,” Rachel says brightly, in the silence that follows, and holds up her shining hand.

  
 

 _they’re playing our song.  
_

No one in the movies, Blaine thinks, collapsed in between them on the couch, ever looks like they feel sticky afterwards. Tired, yes. Sticky, no. He tries to imagine Jimmy Stewart or Kim Novak with drying come on their fingers. It’s impossible. He needs a shower.

  
“Rachel,” Kurt says, quietly, on his left. “I didn’t mean what I said about you looking like a 'before' ad.” He actually _had_ , Blaine knows, but it’s well-intentioned, and he smiles, a little, at Kurt’s attempt to be gracious. “I also didn’t mean what I said about Ali MacGraw’s hair. I was angry, and the insult was uncalled for. Her hair is amazing.”

  
“I know, Kurt. I appreciate that. Thank you.” She doesn’t bother to lift her head. “And I’m sorry I said you looked unattractive. It wasn’t even true. You’re very attractive.”

  
He nods, accepting her apology, and Blaine settles back into the couch, knowing at some point after he gets up, cleans himself off, returns to his life, he’ll have to start thinking about the decision he needs to make. They’ll have to have conversations, the three of them, and unpleasant ones, too. As much as he’d like to think they’ve just shared a solution, Blaine knows he can't convince himself that's true.

  
None of that just yet, though. For now, he’ll rest here between them, rumpled, and listen to their low voices, speaking in a language he loves.

  
“So, do you know what you are now?” Rachel asks, suddenly, turning her head. Blaine knows it's taken her a lot of self-restraint to wait a full three minutes to bring it up. (The other question, threading underneath: _do you know who you want?_ )

  
Kurt’s sharp taste is on Blaine’s tongue. Rachel’s strong scent is everywhere in the room. The sound and heat of them both, too: these things tangled into something he still can’t separate.

  



End file.
